Chapter 2

Harlan took a breath before running his hands over his vest once more, throwing on his suit jacket, and checking that his bleached white hair was in place, not that it ever really was out of place. He’d been combing it back for so long that it even laid that way naturally, for the most part. One last glance at his wrist link and he was good to go. He was a sharp-looking man, with a cut jawline, and smooth, fox-like features. His eyes were a cold, icy blue, but that only added to his image. He looked more like an established businessman than he did a playboy, but the essence was certainly there. Harlan valued his intelligence and ability to strategize more than anything, however, seeking to broaden his horizons whenever he got the chance, even if that broadening had to be done in back alley deals. Speaking of strategizing, he’d made sure he had already sent all the details of his day’s affairs to his secretary and set off on his way.

Harlan had been aboard the Providence for about two days at that point, there were times he wished he could go and see the sights, but unfortunately, his work kept him rather occupied. The Providence was rather interesting to him, not only because it was a grand vacation spot, but it was also one of the main hubs for transporting goods as well as people, and people meant information.

The Providence was a huge ship, originally meant to house only a small crew to run it as a data storage outpost. It had since outgrown its original purpose, now able to house over one hundred and twenty thousand people at any given time. Now, the hulking station housed not only the WatchTower program but also loads of other organizations and even a moderately sized military base that operated out of the bottom layers of the massive construction. Of course, it had been modified over time and with the fact that gravity wasn’t much of an issue in space, architects could simply make it bigger any time they wanted. It truly was a marvel of technology. However, Harlan was more interested in the internal affairs, lending a listening ear wherever he could, even if he wasn’t part of the conversation. That was his trade after all, information, words. When he wasn’t working on the back end, attending meetings. Speaking of information, he had a meeting with a certain WatchTower employee he needed to attend, one where a very lucrative item came into play.

The electronic assistant for a lift pinged as he approached the loading strip.

“Orion’s, please.” The assistant pinged happily in response.

Harlan had known Monday for quite a while now, having met her about two years prior. She was quite the greenie then, at least to station life, and he found it quite endearing. She’d approached him after having met with a few of his subordinates, apparently, her search for him had been a year in the making after she’d caught his name in passing. They’d said some great things, according to her. At first, he refused, but after four more visits and a very lucrative bit of information, he acquiesced. Though the more he thought about it, he only really accepted because what Monday had been looking for piqued his interest. Harlan would be the first to admit he did not know everything, but this was something that even he was surprised he hadn’t heard about. The October. It was something of a celebrity, even schoolchildren talked about the possibilities and what might have happened to the ship, it was uncommon for someone to not have a theory about it. It was only after Monday had brought it to his attention that he started to notice the similarities between the October and several other ships that he had been looking into for other clients. If anything, he was quite upset at himself for not noticing sooner. The October, the Deplin, the Harfeld, and the Arquebus, all ships either owned by or employed by WatchTower. On top of that, all of these ships had disappeared in similar ways, at least according to the WT reports, and those four just happened to be the recorded ones. There were many more than those four, he had no idea just how many ships had gone missing, but with all the discrepancies and missing reports, it was obvious that the Dead Patch was more of a tomb with more victims than they could count than an uncharted section of space. What had interested him the most, however, was the fact that they managed to cover it up for so long. That was truly the wonder for Harlan, the number of skeletons in that closet had to be nearing the hundreds.

As his wonderment about the shadiness of WatchTower bubbled and subsided, he could feel the lift he’d climbed into come to a stop. Right in front of him was the entrance to a rather decent middle-of-the-road restaurant by the name of Orion’s Bar and Grill. For many years it had been a popular meeting place for any of Harlan’s kind to secretly meet up with potential and current clients. Though, after his last venture to the restaurant, he’d migrated most of his business to another section of the ship when he needed to come to the Providence. Monday had, however, insisted on meeting there. Stating that she was to be leaving soon and needed this meeting to be quick. He figured one last visit to the old bar and grill couldn’t hurt, especially since he hadn’t met anyone there for about six months. Surely no one would be spying by then.

As he approached the hostess, that familiar feeling of being slightly overdressed kicked in as he scanned the patrons of the restaurant and he subconsciously tugged at his jacket sleeves in a feeble attempt to make the feeling subside. It didn’t take long for the hostess to find an open table and seat him and it was only ten more minutes before that familiar mop of white and black hair popped up at the door—one of his most favored clients, Monday Evelyn Hyde.

“There you are,” He greeted, his usual fake business smile spread on his face. “How have you been, my dear?”

“Well enough,” Monday replied. “I’m sorry to change the meeting place so suddenly, something important came up.”

The pair shook hands before taking their seats and shuffling their menus to the side. Harlan hadn’t intended on this meeting taking long; from what he could tell, Monday hadn’t either. He kept his questions to himself as she sat and rubbed her hands down her face before cleaning her round-framed glasses and placing them back on her face, stress riddled her features. Harlan took this moment to glance around the restaurant, as far as he could tell, they were okay to continue with the meeting.

“Alright,” Monday said, removing a neat little box from her coat pocket. It looked like a gift. “This is for you. I might be late, but happy birthday.”

Harlan simply smiled and accepted the box. “Thank you, you shouldn’t have.”

He took a moment to pull the sparkly ribbon on the box and pulled the lid off. Inside was a rather nice watch, the face was a deep sapphire blue which matched the similarly coated wristband. The case and arms were silver colored and when he flipped it over, he discovered that it was a legitimate watch, a clear window provided him with a view into the inner workings, and for a moment he watched as the cogs ticked and turned. Something in the bottom of the box caught his eye - the samples. A sly smile spread across his face as he gently placed the watch back into the box. There was a reason she was one of his favorites.

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“It’s not a Conner, but it’s close enough.” She said.

“It’s a wonder you even got your hands on this one, thank you, truly.” Harlan reached into his coat pocket and produced a small pouch that could have easily belonged to a necklace. “This is for you, everything should be sorted correctly.”

“I appreciate it,” She took a breath. “I hope you don’t mind me ordering something, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Oh, please, be my guest,” He knew Monday wouldn’t let him pay for her food, so it hadn’t bothered him one bit.

As the waitress approached, his wristlink pinged. Normally, Tavara fielded all his messages during meetings so his receiving something like this was strange, to say the least. The red banner that flashed across the top of the message as he flicked his wristlink display open let him know that whatever it was, it was important. He rattled off his order to the waitress before quickly scanning the message.

Hello, dearest nephew,

The WatchTower program has decided that they need family accompaniment on their latest and greatest mission, I recommended you as I felt you would be the best for this job. Attached to this message are the details of said job. Please clear your schedule for at least six months, this job is going to take some time. Don’t forget your obligation to the family.

-B. Ambrose

Harlan scowled at the message, not realizing that the waitress had gone and left Monday to stare at him while he read. He needed a moment to think, flicking his wristlink display off and straightening his tie. Of course, his uncle would do this to him now-things were finally settling for him and that just wouldn’t do for good old uncle Baisile. Harlan did his best to recover his anger but the sheer gall of his uncle utterly astounded him. He should have seen it coming.

“Something happen?” Monday asked, thanking the waitress as she dropped off their drinks. “You look like you just sat on a conductor tong.”

“Just an inconvenient shift in plans is all,” His exterior reflected a suave coolness that seemed more like a sheet tugged in the wrong way. “Let’s enjoy our meal and meeting”

It was a long moment before either of them spoke again, Harlan having been sucked up into his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to read that message, to know just what his uncle had gotten him into. It made him nervous, beyond nervous, his uncle wasn’t exactly the type to be ‘so kind’ unless it also harbored some type of gain for himself. He would’ve kept thinking if he hadn’t felt the familiar feeling of someone staring at him. His eyes made their way up to Monday from the menu as the waitress made her way back.

“I know you well enough to know that something is up,” She said, closing her menu.

“Just work, you know how it can be,” He said, letting her concern roll off his back, only to watch her narrow her eyes at him before seemingly deciding to back off.

“How was that other thing you told me about? The-uh-The conference?” She asked, clearly attempting to clog the dead air.

“It went well, except for the company that attempted to back out last minute and ruin the line-up,” Harlan replied with a sigh. “That and the new NeeCo organization has been creating issues with the supply chain here and in New Haven.”

“I heard about that, something to do with a backup of drivers? Or a back order?” She asked, waving her hand as she attempted to recall the correct words.

“Unfortunately, yes. With all the new warp ships being manufactured, drives have been in high demand. Not to mention the project that WatchTower requested five months ago,” He said, straightening his sleeves. “They put a hell of a rush on it, things are only just starting to settle now. The only remaining issue is staffing, which isn’t going to be much of an issue. I heard they should be issuing orders soon.”

“Soon, huh?” Monday asked as their food arrived, she was quick to indulge in her burger. Harlan silently questioned the origin of the meat as his soup was served to him. It was hard to mess up soup, even with synthetic ingredients.

“Maybe this week, maybe next week,” He said. “Maybe even today, I’ve no clue.”

Their meeting had gone smoothly, no strange eyes watching, no oversized coats hanging around just a little too close. That was about the only thing that had gone smoothly for Harlan. As soon as he’d gotten to his room, he made sure to read his message. Uncle Baisile sure had a way of sugar-coating things, a way that pissed Harlan off more than any half-baked deal could. He looked over the message one more time as he took a sip from his crystal cup filled with amber liquid. The attachment stared back at him as if it were some kind of irradiated mold that threatened to mutate his cells beyond repair. He gritted his teeth and poked at the rectangle, opening the attachment. Inside was a formal assignment letter, letting him know that he’d been ‘randomly chosen’ to participate in a WatchTower assignment. Harlan rolled his eyes, skipping past the letter and down to the details.

TEMPORARY ORDERS 145-12

Crewmate: Harlan N. Ambrose

Ship name: UNITY

Team Number: 0007

Period of assignment: Q4-3046-7-12 — until return

Assignment Details: Harlan S. Ambrose will accompany Team Seven on the WTS UNITY on a reconnaissance assignment in the D-6 quadrant. There, he will assist in the recovery of PMC OCTOBER’s Data box and AI, as well as any other items that can be salvaged.

Team Seven will be issued a U-Class hybrid ship fitted with long-range sensors, communications devices, and weapons as well as everything needed to complete mapping, tests and any other forms of research deemed necessary. You will receive more information in regards to the data box… (blah blah blah)

Harlan had to remind himself to relax his jaw. It was ironic to him, to have recently received information on trade routes only to then get pulled into the fiasco by his ‘dear’ uncle. He could feel a headache creeping in on him as he angrily ripped off his coat and tossed it to the side as he wrenched the buttons to his vest open. An angry, shaking hand snaked through his hair as he flopped down onto his couch, taking another sip from the now-sweaty glass. This time, he couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t received the message, or take a last-minute flight and blame the distance. No. This time, if he didn’t agree, he would be hunted down until he agreed. Either way, it was a death sentence. Harlan didn’t understand, why now? Was his uncle really trying to get rid of him?

This also meant he couldn’t make any inquiries with his mutuals, they probably already put a flag on his wristlink by now to monitor him before departure. He sighed and flicked the message open again…he had a week. A week to get his affairs in order to leave for who knew how long. That until return sat up in the corner of the orders, taunting him. Figuring it was time to let Tavara know, he was quick to have her meet him. He had a lot to do.